//------------------------------// // Chapter 5: Betrayal in the Hive // Story: Collateral Damage // by Jordan179 //------------------------------// Princess Ceymi soared on Tootsie Pop's wings over the Palomino. She was grateful for the wider wingspan and ability to glide on broad-spread flightfield: Had she been limited to the more active means of flight of her natural form, she would have been forced to consume much more energy. As herself, she would have had no choice but to stop somewhere, hunt for food, get some sleep. As Tootsie Pop, she could make it back to the Hive within a single night and morning's long journey. This convenience was a clear demonstration of what her Queen had always told her: Changelings were the Master Race, able to make use of the advantages of any of the lesser breeds. Most of the way south she had followed the river. There was a danger of encountering other Ponies this way, of course, but then there was nothing particularly suspicious about Tootsie Pop. The famous Code of the Skies held that fliers did not bother one another without specific reason, and once she had cleared the Everfree, there was nothing logically connecting her with the corpse she was leaving far behind in that clearing. However much of it would be left when the manticore was finished. Briefly, Ceymi wondered if the manticore would eat the whole corpse, including the tracker. That would be mostly to her benefit; as it would totally muddy the evidence. In addition, this led her to the amusing thought of the Guards hunting that manticore through hill and dale, finally killing it and cutting open its stomach. That would serve it right. The alternative possibility -- that the Guards wouldn't get it until it passed Falcon Punch, depressed her slightly. He fought too well to deserve to be manticore droppings. Ah well. We don't get what we think we deserve. He probably thought he deserved to come home to his wife instead of dying over the Everfree. And I --? Her life was actually going pretty well now -- she'd be able to report complete success at a dangerous mission to the Queen, she'd only suffered minor injury in the process, which some sustenance and sleep would heal in a night or two, and she'd even get to keep Thermal as her personal love store for the next decade, if she buzzed her part right. She felt she'd gotten at least as much as she deserved. Won't last forever, though, she reminded herself. Into each ling's life a little rain must fall, and into the life of an Infiltrator more than most. The day would come when she'd be fighting for her life again, perhaps somewhere even more unpleasant as the Everfree. But for tonight, all she had to do was get home, make her report, and rest. Oh, sweet sleep ... She yearned to already be back home. *** Strawberry had long since recovered from her fright of several hours past, gotten the fillies more food, and cleaned up the kitchen floor. She had just finished putting Blackcherry and Raspberry to bed, the lights were out. It would be a normal night. Except that she didn't feel normal. The initial terror was gone, but she felt inexplicably nervous. What's the matter with me? she asked herself as she lay on the living room couch, repeatedly rubbing her fore-hooves together until she felt the sensitive suckered surface on the bottoms becoming painfully raw. She considered knitting, but of course now her dexterity would be shot until a good night's sleep healed them. She felt weak, endangered, as if something she had counted upon to strengthen and shield her for years was missing, and the world had become perilous. It was an odd sensation -- Strawberry had been raised by loving parents, sheltered by them until she was old enough to seek new loves -- and had almost instantly met and married Falcon. She had always enjoyed the protection of others -- being alone, even for a short while, bothered her on a very deep level. I'm a big silly getting like this just because Falcon's gone for a night, she scolded herself. When I talk to him about how I felt tonight, when I see him tomorrow morning he'll tell the same thing himself. The thought of seeing Falcon tomorrow morning greatly comforted her. I'd better get some sleep, she decided. I'll want to be fresh for Falcon tomorrow. She got up, padded over to the kitchen, took out a cup. Her hooves were easily up to the task of this minor manipulation. She opened a cabinet, looked at the array of bottles contained therein. I don't want to drink too much, she decided. I'll get a hangover, and my breath will be all nasty for Falcon when we kiss. So she selected some wine -- the wine was strawberry, just like her name, and bottled by her own family -- and poured herself just a single cup. She recorked the bottle and put it away, to make sure she wasn't tempted to take any more. Then she took the cup into the living room, slowly sipped her wine, felt her calm returning. There. All better. She returned the cup to the kitchen, washed it -- everything's going to be neat and tidy for Falcon when he comes home -- and went off to bed. She slipped off to sleep, and dozed untroubled by nightmares. *** The night was long fled into the west -- it was well past sunrise, when Princess Ceymi finally landed at the entrance of the main upper tunnel into Hive Chrysalis. She folded Tootsie Pop's weary wings, shifted back to her true form, and made a vocal recognition buzz to the two Warriors who stood in alcoves beside the gate, who buzzed back to welcome her home to the Hive. After the first couple hundred yards of Outer Hive labyrinth, defense against any outsiders who had managed to make it this far, Ceymi reached the Middle Hive, stepping back into her familiar world of close tunnels filled with the comforting warmth and scent of Changelings and their bio-technology, the strips of luminescent fungi on the tunnel walls, the bustle and rustle of Changelings and their chitin, the buzz of Changeling minds and voices. Here there was no Enemy, no danger, here was only Hive Chrysalis, here only the Changelings, all of them at least her half-siblings, their kin-based altruistic love surrounding her in its literally kind embrace, for it derived solely from genetic similarity.. It was no intense love, such as the Ponies knew at their most fortunate. There was friendship, but not friendship against all others, for the first love and loyalty of any sane Changeling was to Queen and to Hive. There was a dim kind of lust, and occasional mating, but there were no romantic meetings, shy courtships, special somelings or anything like marriages: for all but the smartest of Changelings, sexuality within the Hive was starkly reproductive, rather than sentimental. The love was vague and tasteless to her empathy, which was proper since Changelings could not feed off the love of one another. And the minds behind that love were, to Ceymi's brilliant brain, but dim and flighty ones, useless for any serious conversations, such as Starry Eyes had enjoyed, with Thermal Soar and a few other Ponies. Still, they were her own kind, her own Hive, and their love was undemanding and unshakeable -- all it asked from her was that she subordinate her individuality to the greater whole that was the Hive Mind. When she was in the Hive, Ceymi usually just turned off most of her own thoughts and ran on conditioning, drifting along in the collective dream that was the vague consciousness of Hive Chrysalis. It was relaxing and restful, and right now she needed relaxation and rest more than almost anything else. There was but one responsibility, one chore left to perform before she could surrender herself to sweet somnolence. And this would surely be a happy task, for she had accomplished her assignment. Once again, she had proven herself the greatest Infiltrator the Hive boasted. She had moved amongst the prey undetected, taken control of one of their Warrior-posts unsuspected, made captive her primary target, then slain the secondary target -- a veteran Equestrian Warrior -- taken the physical prize, confirmed the kill, and made a clean getaway. She had once again won, returned victorious. She made her way deeper into the mesa whose outside seemed so sinister to those not of the Hive, yet so welcoming to the Children of Chrysalis. Another gate, another pair of guards, another challenge and recognition. Now she was within the Inner Hive, the sanctum of Queen Chrysalis and her most trusted servants. Here, no outsider would ever enter, unless never to return. The prey stored here as love-stock were for the personal use of Queen Chrysalis, and hers alone, kept apart from the common larder or the subsidiary larders maintained by the lesser Royalty such as Ceymi herself. And of course, only at great need would the Queen lower herself to drink from the mere love-pools employed by the common Changelings. It was the Queen's right to tap directly from the source, a right as unquestioned within the Hive as her right to rule, as long as she remained dominant and un-Challenged. A final set of gates, a final challenge and recognition. And Princess Ceymi, the greatest Infiltrator of her generation, strode within the crowded throne-chamber of Queen Chrysalis, self-proclaimed strongest Changeling Queen of her species and her historical age. The roughly ellipsoid cave, carved from the rock by a forgotten race, remolded to Changeling purposes, and lined with the hardened secretions of many skilled Ling artisans, arranged in patterns of bioluminescence and scent that were as beautiful to the Changelings as they would have been nauseating and terrible to Ponies, was crowded with Changelings. There were Changelings crowding the floor, the walls, even parts of the ceiling, clinging to deliberate irregularities in the coating ideally-suited to be grasped by the irregularities and holes in Changeling hooves. Unlike the Ponies, Changelings did not need luxury, they did not need personal space, they did not even need to be oriented vertically to function. This throne chamber was proof and testament to Changeling superiority, and the constant low buzz that filled even more fully than the chitinous Changeling forms was supremely comforting to a weary Infiltrator returned from the lands of their prey and enemies. There was no formal announcement of her presence, as there might have been at a court of Ponies or Griffons or similar inferior beings. There was no need -- she simply buzzed her identity as she entered, in voice and mind, and the Hive Mind of which the Changelings in this chamber were part relayed her identity to its Focus who sat at the room's other end. The Hive accepted her. The Queen accepted her. Without being explicitly told, Ceymi knew that it was right, proper and necessary that she advance to close audience with the Queen, and she did so. The crowd before her parted automatically as she advanced, also knowing what to do without being told directly. Those few enemies or prey who actually knew of the Changelings might imagine that they were mindless slaves of the Hive, but it was not slavery. Rather it was glorious Unity, with and within the Hive, and in this moment -- among the last moments of her life, though she did not know it yet, in which she would really and genuinely feel this sentiment -- Princess Ceymi was happy in her unconditonal acceptance and place within the greater order. Queen Chrysalis sat before her, great and glorious in her sublime majesty. The Stare -- stronger by far than Ceymi's own -- slept behind her gorgeous green eyes, proof to the mind of the Princess of her psychic dominance. Special pheromones wafted from her body, including most especially the flower-like growth that crowned her cranium, proof to Ceymi's vomeronasal receptors both of that same dominance and their close kinship. There was only one eusocial collective in Equestria greater than a Changeling Hive, one Focus stronger than a Changeling Queen, and though it was a far more loving One, Princess Ceymi had already fled in terror from its principal Friend, and would never have the chance to become a part of it again in this lifetime. Chrysalis was the Queen she would live and die for, as the possibilities of her life approached their narrowing-point. Princess Ceymi dipped her head to her Queen. There was no need for any elaborate ceremony of submission, no Far-Northern proskynensis, nor even a low bow as an Equestrian subject would have rendered to his Ruling Princess. Ceymi's submission came from mind and pores alike, and it was a submission so complete that it would have alarmed and even horrified the Sun Princess of Canterlot, had one of her own rendered it unto her. "Welcome back to the Hive," would have been the Equestrian translation of the concepts which Queen Chrysalis conveyed to her royal vassal. "I see that you have succeeded." Had Ceymi failed, her psycyhic and pheromonal emissions would have tasted very different to the Queen, and her reception might have been far less pleasant. "Yes, my Queen," replied Princess Ceymi. "I was completely successful. I secured the Pony who was my primary target, Thermal Soar, without revealing any useful information to any other Ponies. We took the forms of Equestrian Warriors and relieved the Pony War-Leader commanding the post in Appleloosa. Coxus took charge of Thermal Soar, and I took that Pony's form and accompanied the Pony War-Courier, Falcon Punch, sent to convey Thermal Soar back toward Canterlot. I ambushed and slew Falcon Punch over the Everfree, took his package, landed to confirm the kill, and, disengaging myself from the hostile life of that forest, flew without further incident back to the Hive. I am available for further orders, though I must report physical and thaumic exhuastion from this mission, and would be much more useful to my Queen and my Hive after a period of rest." "Very good," said Queen Chrysalis. "You have shown yourself once again to be a courageous and competent servant of the Hive. This eliminates all but one of any possible sources of doubt I had about your fitness as my vassal." What!? Only Ceymi's extreme skill at subterfuge prevented her from showing the shock she felt. She had known that Queen Chrysalis was testing her, but she had not realized that she had been under active suspicion. Why ---? she briefly wondered, but the answer immediately leaped into her brain. She knows! Ceymi thought. Dread swept through her. She knows that I deliberately delayed reporting that I had found Thermal Soar, had been watching him -- meeting with him -- for almost two decades. She feared that I betrayed the Hive! But wait - if she feared that -- why whould she wait so long to strike? She said nothing aloud, though. Chrysalis was the only ling Ceymi had ever known to be easily of her own or greater intelligence. "Do not fear, Ceymi," said Chrysalis, with what strangely seemed a combination of malice and genuine affection. "You have not returned to the Hive after your arduous mission to face your execution. I also know why you spared him, to what mental illness you have succumbed, and it one easily remedied, a remedy that shall be combined with a very easy test. The threat of Love-Addiction, and of Split-Mind, are part and parcel of Infilitration." The Queen made a motion behind her, where servants waited at the back apeture, which ledi to her own private suite behind the throne chamber. "Were you a less capable Infiltrator," she continued, "I would simply dispose of you, as proven too weak and fallible a reed for further reliance. But you are the greatest Infiltrator in this Hive, save for myself. You are a resource which I cannot simply toss onto the heap for composting. All you need to do to pass your test is not react, until I am finished with my meal." The servants led forward a Pony whom Ceymi recognized only too well. The member of a lesser Changeling caste would have gasped in dismay. Even a lesser Infiltrator might have displayed some sign of emotion at this point. But she was Princess Ceymi, greatest of her generation. She stood stony-faced, unmoving, clamping down by main force of will on pheromonal emissions, on psychic leakage, just another Changeling in the court as the servants led to stand before Queen Chrysalis that Pony, a Pony she had known well for twenty years. One of the very few beings she had ever honestly called her friend. Thermal Soar. He seemed unhurt, though a little tired. He had no expression either, of course, save for a sort of dull smile, for he had been well and truly subjected to The Stare. He was probably in some happy dream world right now -- she briefly wondered exactly what he perceived this place as being. Perhaps he thought he was in the Day Court at Canterlot, being honored by the Sun Princess for his selfless service to his own Hive. The intentions of Queen Chrysalis were painfully obvious from her previous statement. There was a whole spectrum of intensity across which a Changeling could feed. At the lowest level, she would drain only a tiny percentage of the victim's love, so little that given strong positive affect the prey could easily regenerate the energy in a single night's sleep, indeed might not even be aware of any exhaustion. This was how Ceymi herself usually fed, had fed many times upon Thermal Soar, upon others -- a few of whom she regarded with affection -- though of course she could feel no true love herself. Such feeding would be prolonged, and invisible save to the most precise magical detection. At increased levels of intensity the drain would be more severe, and increasingly less subtle. The victim would be instantly exhausted, often immediately fainting, while the paramagnetic leakage from the energy flow might be so great that the very air would ionize between predator and prey, so that it looked as if the very life was being drawn from the stock. Which was not all that far from the truth, but was not usually the case -- though if this level of feeding was often repeated, the creature's soul would be eroded -- after weeks of such excessive feeding, little would be left but a mindless animal. Ceymi had done this as well, reluctantly and at need, and she always tried to stop well short of inflicting permanent damage. The highest level of intensity was possible only to the strongest Changelings -- royalty, such as Chrysalis and Ceymi -- and Ceymi herself had only ever done this once, as a training exercise upon stock that was close to death in any case. The results had sickened her, and she had resolved never to do it again. Such a rapid drain was never really necessary, given competent mission planning, and as an attack it was cumbersome and slow, compared to simple horn-blasting or weapons usage. It was simple sadism, a mockery of everything superior and noble in Changeling nature, and she would have no part of it. Queen Chrysalis turned and smiled upon Thermal Soar, carefully directing her gaze at no other entity within the chamber. Knowing what was about to happen, her two servants stepped rapidly aside, leaving the old Pony geologist staggering there, smiling foolishly at the Changeling Queen, at what he no doubt saw as some high Pony noble, perhaps even Celestia herself. Ceymi knew what was about to happen as well. No, she thought but did not speak, did not even emit from her mind, Please, no. This is a waste ... we could drain him for years ... Chrysalis opened her eyes wide. Her slumbering Stare awoke, and in an instant submerged Thermal's feeble mind as if it were a wood chip caught in the path of a tsunami. No ... thought Ceymi to herself. Not feeble. It was a fine mind ... one of the best ... She already thought of her friend in the past tense. He was still alive, of course .. .but not for much longer. "Love me," hissed Chrysalis, and Thermal's face immediately distorted into an intense, pained look of utter adoration. His wings shot out rigidly. There was a rhythmic spattering noise against the chamber floor. Ceymi saw that Thermal had instantly unsheathed and was emptying the entire contents of his testicles in a series of uncontrollable ejaculations. Oh, Thermal, you would have been so embarrassed to have done that in public, were you really where you probably think you are. But of course Thermal's mind was in a place beyond any normal social considerations. She remembered other times she had seen -- and felt -- his stallionhood fulfill its biological purpose, times when they had lain together in love, or what he thought was love, times when she had at least known physical pleasure, closeness, companionship from a dear friend, times beautiful and sweet in her memory, and utterly unlike this dark parody of love. Must you rob him of his dignity like this? Ceymi had tapped his love in those remembered times too, but it had been gentle and harmless feeding, though amazingly sustaining, and she had surely given back as much as she had taken, though in different coin. Afterward they had lain and cuddled and caressed one another, lying not in victory or defeat, but in mutual affection, long conversation, minds and souls meeting as gladly and intimately as their bodies had met just before. She had slept safely in his embrace, the embrace not of her enemy but of her dearest friend, a friendship that had transcended species and social roles, something that was almost beyond mere friendship ... And then Ceymi knew, and in that knowing something snapped within. But she remained rigid, unmoving, unrevealing. It was far too late for Thermal Soar. All she could accomplish by protest would be her own destruction. The perfect Infiltrator, she showed nothing on the outside of what she was feeling within. Queen Chrysalis turned briefly to smile at Ceymi, and then the Queen locked her gaze once again on her helpless prey. She opened her jaws wide. Ceymi's own empathy could feel the Queen establish a deadly emotional resonance. She wanted to turn away, but that would be revealing. So she watched as it happened. Brilliant green energy erupted from every orifice in the head of Thermal Soar. The paramagnetic leakage was so intense that it brought flesh to the boiling point, and the old stallion screamed hideously as his throat and nasal passages were seared by live steam, his eyes exploded, his brain boiled as the love surged out from him to be absorbed by the thirsty Changeling Queen. He must have been dead after the first moments, but green and pink-tinged steam contiinued to erupt from him, spreading to empty him of all wastes from his nethers as well, and he continued to scream -- and make less polite noises -- from the sheer internal gas pressure. Ceymi had expected this. She had done it once, and sworn never to do it again, even though the one to whom she had done it had meant nothing to her, had almost no mind left after over a decade of over-tapping. Now Ceymi was seeing it done to one she -- only liked, she desperately told herself, only liked -- and she could not taste the love Chrysalis was consuming, only see the energy wasted as light and heat, energy accumulated within his dear soul and now cast out like garbage. Her mind froze with horror and disgust. Within her, the broken parts could not mesh, her Self and her Masks were splitting apart, reeling toward insanity. And still Chrysalis continued. Thermal Soar was surely dead now, please, Rosedust, let him be dead, thought Ceymi, but Chrysalis continued to drain the husk, pulling out energy which she could no longer metabolize, for it was no longer love, but merely undifferentiated life force. His corpse remained horribly upon its hooves, jerking with random neural sparks, horribly eyeless head shuddering in a gruesome parody of speech as the water vapor hissed out of his tongueless mouth. The hair dropped from his mane and coat, the hide stretched tightly over the bones as flesh flash-dessicated. A hideous smell of boiled meat filled the chamber. Chrysalis laughed, clear and loud, as the lightning played about her. Then, she stopped. She let go with her horn, and Thermal's corpse dropped to the chamber floor. She looked to a pair of servants. "That is a bit dried out now, but there is still protein within. Render it for the broth -- I do not waste what is of value to the Hive." They dragged the corpse away. Slowly, Queen Chrysalis turned to face Princess Ceymi. Surplus love radiated from the Queen, she glowed in spectra beyond the visual with the power that now filled her beyond repletion. "I trust you understand that this was in part for your own benefit?" Chrysalis asked. The Changeling whom the Queen addressed felt numb. She felt nothing. She was nothing. She was no one. No, said that part of her Self which was an elite Infiltrator, you cannot afford to be unresponsive. You are something. You have to be something, Choose your Mask. She considered her options, chose a Mask. It was a very appropriate Mask. She didn't even have to Shift to don it. Ceymi, she thought to herself. I will be Princess Ceymi. She regarded the still-smoking spot on the floor with indifference. "Thank you, my Queen," Ceymi said. "I understand. I was becoming Love-Locked to that prey. I risked Split-Mind. It was good of you to shock me out of it in such a manner. I feel much better now. Though still very tired." "Do you feel better now?" the Queen asked, and suddenly her Stare lashed out again, pinning the Princess in its psychic glare. The Changeling so subjected felt the Queen's eyes boring into her very soul. The subject bore up stoically under that Stare. She did not try to resist, for she was being Ceymi, and Ceymi was utterly loyal and would never resist examination by her rightful Queen. The scan swept through her mind -- and found only Ceymi, who loved only her Hive and was utterly-obedient to her Queen, merely a bright mind and set of skills at their disposal. Chrysalis could at that moment have laid upon the subject any command she wanted, and that subject would have followed it, even to the destruction of Ceymi. But there was no need for any geas. Ceymi was utterly devoted to Hive and Queen. There was nothing in her attitude to adjust. Further Staring into her might only damage a valuable tool. Satisfied, Queen Chrysalis veiled her Stare. "You have done well," she said to Princess Ceymi. "You have passed all tests. You must be tired now, after your strenuous mission. You may do as you wish, feed as you wish, rest as you wish. We shall call upon you again when you are once more needed. You may go." Ceymi went, departing the Inner Hive for the Middle. As the subject walked down the twisting, green-litten tunnels of the Hive, she felt its warmth and life all around her, the familiar rustle of chitin as Workers busied about their ceaseless labors, the hiss of effort as Warriors sparred, the buzzing voices speaking by both sound and psychic emanation. It was a single great living being, and Ceymi should have been comforted by it, warmed by her own great diffuse love for the Hive. So Ceymi did, and was. A ling must truly be damaged not to naturally feel love for her Hive, the subject thought. Hopefully, this damage shall heal. The thought created all the emotional affect in her that she would normally have felt had she noticed dirt on her chitin and thought that should be groomed. The subject felt hunger, thirst, love-need. So she went to the appropriate chambers and satisfied these needs. She ate broth, drank tea, drained from the communal pool -- she was far too tired to craft a love-dream for stock, and the thought of a brutal draining resulted in her first emotional affect since Thermal's death -- revulsion. She ate and drank and drained with utter indiffrence as to the quality. That's a bit wrong, the Infiltrator realized. Ceymi is fastidious, she has a weakness for comfort which she acquired in the field, she strives to be physically comfortable even within the Hive. She was already full, so she couldn't ingest anything more. But she did feel dirty. So Ceymi bathed. Afterward, the subject felt somewhat better, cleaner not only of carapace but also of mind and soul. The buzz of the Hive all around her was faintly annoying, an irritating distraction. Ceymi prefers to think apart from others, the Infiltrator thought. It's one of her signature habits. After a misision such as this she would want to mull over what she has learned, prepare her notes, her reports, consider how her Masks might be affected by what has happened. She never does this when physically inside the Hive. So the subject walked out of the Middle Hive into the Outer Hive, and from there to one of the exit tunnels. Challenge and recognition passed between Ceymi and guards. She walked between the two Warriors to launch herself into the air from the apeture at its end. Her wings whined as she flitted over the Hill of the Stones, across the valley to a ridge about a mile away -- still well within the zone patrolled by the Hive. Here, the vast gestalt that was the Hive Mind -- huge, united, and profoundly, deeply, sadly stupid -- was far in the background, something she could hear only by straining all her senses. Here, at last, it was quiet enough to really think. The subject knew that she was far from sane right now. She did not know her own identity. So many sub-personalities, so many Masks, all whirling around in her head, and which one of them was her true Self? Queen Chrysalis had spoken of Love-Lock, and that was certainly true. She had been addicted to Thermal Soar. She was still addicted to Thermal Soar. It was just too bad, because now she was going to have to quit cold turkey. That was, she supposed, a good thing in its way. In that sense Chrysalis had been speaking complete honesty. The Queen had also said that Ceymi had been Split-Minded, and that was untrue. Or it had been untrue when the Queen had made that statement. The subject was definitely Split-Minded, now. The subject no longer knew her true name or nature. Not anymore. Was the subject "Ceymi?" That was the Mask she had worn to successfully exfiltrate. But why was she "exfiltrating" from her own Hive? One did not do such a thing. One's Hive was one's mother even more than was the Royal who had laid one's egg. One's Hive was where one was completely and utterly safe. Even if one's Hive killed one, all that this meant was that the Hive resources temporarily incarnated in oneself would be returned to the Hive. Such a fate was nothing to fear. There was no fear within the Hive, there was only love. The only love proper to a Changeling. So why did the subject feel no love right now? Not for Hive, not for self, not for ... anyling or anypony. It was as if the capacity for love had been cauterized right out of her soul, boiled away as surely as had been poor Ther -- No. She could not think of that. She must not think of that. She would go truly mad if she thought of that. The subject paused. Or is it that this one must think of that? But not as Ceymi. As one who could feel the emotions directly, express them, discharge them more properly and completely, before they destroy this one's mind? This may be noisy, the Infiltrator thought, recollecting the emotions of Ponies. Ceymi must fly farther from the Hive. She took to the air again, flew five miles to a low hill that the Changelings rarely frequented, for it was out of the direct line of sight of the Hive and so far away that including it within the perimeter would have required a ridiculous commitment of resources. She settled into a sheltered dry gulch between rocks. Very well, the Infiltrator thought. Now to don another Mask. Green fire played across the subject's form. Chitin vanished, flashed away to become light gray fur. Wings and horn vanished. Blue eyes peered out at the gulch beneath a short blue mane, eyes that loved to see new places, that had seen many stranger sights before. Strong Earth Pony hooves gripped the ground with versatile micro-suckers and paramagnetic ground-fields. Starry Eyes stood there. Very good, thought the Infiltrator. Mental state isn't impaired enough to interfere with Shifting. Now, how would she react to what just happened, given that she is now out of danger? Her eyes widened in stark horror, ears pinned fully back, head flung back and mouth opened to emit a loud, ragged cry, that might have been "No!" but bore only a vague resemblance to the coherent speech of anything sapient. Tears started, ran down her face. Still wailing in helpless denial, Starry Eyes sank to her knees, to her barrel, buried her head under her forehooves and broke down into helpess sobbing, unable to speak a single world. Thermal, was her only clear thought, Thermal ... She remained like that a while, the sobs slowly dying down, shivering as calm slowly returned, a huge hollowness still within her heart, one which she feared would never be full again, a hollowness which had nothing to do with love-hunger, and everything to do with the final loss of a particular love. Still more slowly, sanity began to return, bits and pieces of a greater Self re-integrating, taking command of the sub-personalities it had invented to serve the purposes of her Masks. She closed her eyes for a long while. There was no use in sorrow. Thermal Soar was gone forever, and whatever joy he still gave to her he could only give in memory. He had deserved a kinder death, by far a kinder death than that mockery of desire the Queen had inflicted upon him -- she was briefly shocked by the flare of fierce hatred within her, directed at the Queen she normally worshiped -- but what had happened had happened. It had to be faced, accepted as reality, surmounted and pushed to the side for the needs of survival. Secrecy is survival, she reminded herself, even if one must sometimes keep secrets from the Queen, from the Hive. Strangely the blasphemy did not bother her as much as it would once have done. She supposed that she had just lost the last shreds of her innocence, which had nothing to do with the things most Ponies imagined were innocence, but everything to do with the lack of familiarity with betrayal. I never dreamed that I would want to betray my own Hive, my own Queen, that I would have no choice but to do so in order to survive. Even at this moment, it did not occur to her that her Queen and Hive might have betrayed her as well. She was brilliant, emotionally more capable and flexible than all but a tiny fraction of her kind; almost a mental throwback to the adaptability of what that kind had once been, before it had been irrevocably Twisted. There was in her the capability to become much greater than she imagined, but she would never receive the stimulus. Such is the harshness of Evolution, whether entirely natural or manipulated by long-gone humanoid Eldren biomancers and petrified mad Chaos gods. The notion that her Hive or her Queen owed her anything in return for her loyalty was literally beyond her comprehension. And always would be beyond that comprehension. She rejected any tendency in herself to grow in that direction as firmly as she had rejected the offer of Paradise. She was one of the noblest and smartest Changelings that had ever lived, but her upbringing had been entirely Changeling, and there were some things she simply dared not even try to think. That was her tragedy, and one she would never grasp. Ceymi, still wearing the Mask of Starry Eyes, opened those blue Pony eyes and looked out again, a badly-shaken but once again essentially sane Changeling. Well, that was strange, she thought. "Grief." Real grief. I never felt that before. Ceymi felt sorrow that Thermal Soar was gone. She felt regret that she would never enjoy his love and friendship again; the physical pleasure of lovemaking with him, the still-more-important intellectual pleasure of exchanging ideas with his fine mind. She felt disgust that he had died in such an unnecessarily vile and wasteful fashion. He had been a brave and determined Pony, an explorer, philosopher, and scientist. He had deserved better. But it was a mostly abstract sensation. It was not the all-consuming loss that Starry Eyes would have felt, were she in truth still alive, rather than almost two decades dead in the Everfree. That death was not Ceymi's fault, a fact for which she felt rather glad, because she thought she would have liked Starry Eyes well had she known her in life. But she was not Starry Eyes, and she would not react as Starry Eyes, save to convince Ponies that she was her Mask. She would live, and remain Ceymi for ever. She would never let herself get so absorbed in a Mask again that she risked Love-Locking, let alone Split-Minding. She would learn from her errors, and pass on her knowledge to her students, especially to her offspring (that minor treason was unavoidable, she had spent too much time among Ponies), to ensure that they never felt the pain she had suffered. Queen Chrysalis may have indeed done her a favor, though Ceymi did not think it had to be done in such a cruel and wasteful fashion. She was sane now, and would be sane from now on. Feeling much better, she Shifted back to her true form, lifted from the Gulch and headed back to her Hive. *** Within that Hive, another Changeling was engaging in a far darker form of insanity. Queen Chrysalis felt good. She had both put Princess Ceymi in her place, and pulled her off a dangerous path, a path which might have led to Deviation far more profound than her own. She knew full well that Ceymi had been not merely locking onto Thermal Soar, but actually falling in love with him. That love had started as part of the Mask, but would have inevitably spread to Ceymi's Self, even if Thermal had been kept in the Hive as love-stock. Back in the Old Worlds, she had seen Changelings take those on whom they had become Love-Locked and flee the Hive. They were almost always recaptured and killed, but Ceymi's skill and intellect were such that she might have even succeeded in remaining at large. Perhaps she would in the end have betrayed Queen and Hive alike, fled to the protection of the Realm and its accursed Night-Watch. That would have ruined all her plans, including her most ambitious ones. It was a good thing that she had nipped this tendency in the bud. Now she had business to perform, a use for the energy she had ripped from Thermal Soar. Her path took her from her own study-chamber to a dark and twisting tunnel, barely illuminated by glow-fungus, deep within the heart of the mesa. It led to several tunnels, and to a single door. She stepped through that door, into a chamber that was but dimly litten, visible even to the Queen's nyctalopic eyes as an irregular ovoid outline. The only light came from the fungus in the corridor outside. Even that, though, was too much radiance for that which she must accomplish. She put an opaque cloth over the apeture, spat a quick-drying glue to seal it tightly around the edges. Now the room was both almost air-tight and utterly lightless, even to the Queen's sensitive vision. Stepping to the center of the room and facing away from the door, she reared up on her hind legs. She spread her forelgs wide, buzzed her wings in an unusual and vaguely disquieting fashion. She commenced chanting in a langauge which had been old at the dawn of the Changelings, old at the time of the Cataclysm, old when the Eldren had crafted the Five Kinds from the Proto-Ponies; old even when the Great G'marr had taken wild horses and shaped their minds until one day an equid had looked out upon the world with sudden sapience. It had already been old, in fact, when the Earth had formed from cosmic dust, though Queen Chrysalis knew nothing of astrophysical timescales, and hence could not appreciate the true extremity of its ancientness. Her legs hurt as she remained in this uncomfortable posture, and she could feel the excess energy she had torn from her victims draining from her, until she was no stronger than her normal wont. Presently, a cold wind began to blow through the near-hermetically sealed room, proceeding from somewhere and to somewhere beyond any normal mortal ken. An apparently violet light began to flash intermittently from all around her, from within her as well, though the Changeling Queen noticed that -- no more than on previous occasions -- could she see any portion of her own anatomy by this spectral effulgence. It was as if she was a disembodied spirit, adrift and helpless between the dimensions. Had she not been who and what she was, Chrysalis would have been utterly terrified. As it was, she did find the effect more than a bit disquieting. After some more time, she was no longer alone in the chamber. "O, mighty Ahtu," she said bowing low. "Haunter of the Dark, it is I, Queen Chrysalis of the Changelings, who was once known as Kifuko, and who does obesience to thee, and tremble before thy power and glory." She raised her head slightly. "I do worship and greet thee, Mighty Messenger from Beyond, Crawling Chaos, and do entreat thee to grant favorable audience to thy humble servant." A great three-lobed eye, burning with impossible unlight, opened and regarded her coldly, as if she were but a worm spread out for dissection by something vast and Cosmic. It was a gaze less friendly by far than she had given to her hapless victim in her throne chamber, before she wrenched his soul free from its mortal housing, to empower herself for this ritual. Chrysalis, at least, could appreciate the taste of love, though she might never feel such an emotion. She doubted if the entity before which she prostrated herself had even a nutrtional attraction to the emotion. Suddnly, she was shaken by a vast and utterly-cold laughter, that like the violet radiance seemed to sound not only from the direction of that great Eye, but also from all around her, even within her. And Queen Chrysalis, dark and loathsome though she was, shuddered before the dreadful mockery of Ahtu, who was known in some lands as Nyarlathotep. WORSHIP ME? The concepts seared themselves painfully into her very brain, by some painful means which were as to Changeling telepathy as a hard-driven punch was to a gentle caress. Queen Chrysalis sobbed in anguish. Then, reducing somewhat in intensity, as if the speaker sensed It was destroying her mind, Oh no, little Flutter-Pony, I doubt most greatly that thou worshipeth any entity, besides thine own insatiable self -- thou who aspireth to be Hunger. Through her pain and terror, Chrysalis almost felt like laughing at this, but she knew better than to anger the god. Fear not, little creature, Ahtu continued. I shall not destroy thee -- now. Did I not have my pawn Twist thine whole subspecies to produce one such as thyself, though he imagined he did so for his own entertainment? One who knowest not love, nor loyalty, to any being, not even to one's own Hive? Thou art consummate evil, Kifuko, and thou shalt become great amongst the Shadows -- who shall rule this Universe, even as my idiotic cousins amongst the Cosmics bubble and blaspheme and dither, unable to act in their own decadence. And thou shalt be mine own vassal, whose power shall be in my ranks to ensure that I am even greater in the new Universal order. Art thou comforted? It asked her. "Yes," said Chrysalis. "I shall live forever, to serve thee, mighty Ahtu." To serve THYSELF, Ahtu said again, but in doing so thou shalt also serve me right well. Do not think of betraying me in turn to the Shadow Cosmics, It explained. They are far less benign than mine own self, and would use you as you used the sacrifice you made to Call me. And Chrysalis contemplated the concept of a thing more malign than Ahtu, and she in truth trembled. Now know this, Ahtu told her. Thou hast already created another being, a Daughter whose power shall become great, whether for the weak Cosmics of this world, or in the service of the Shadow. No, it is not that weak and sentimental fool thou so recently did discipline. She is corroded by love, and thus useless for our purposes. She is now beyond thy reach, It continued, but when the time comes thou shalt have opportunities ample to reclaim her. Do so. For if she serves our foe, she may make conquering this wretched world much more difficult. Not only in her own right, but in whom may be drawn to serve her. Dost thou understand? "I ... I think so. Dost thou mean the child of ..." Yes, said Ahtu, taking the name from her surface thoughts. Then thou understandeth thy role. Marshal thy Swarm, overthrow Equestria, and regain control of thy straying child. It shall take thee many years, perhaps a score or more by my estimate, but it is possible if thou dost not err. "Yes, great Ahtu. I hear and obey!" Very well, said Ahtu. I shall grant thee a gift. An adviser, who shall aid thee in thy efforts. There was a subtle shift in the room, which now had three occupants. Do not Call me again save at great need, Ahtu warned her. Or I shall be wroth with thee. Fare well in thy quest. Thank you, Mighty One, said Queen Chrysalis. Thank you. The Eye vanished. The unlight faded. The cold wind ceased. "Are you there, adviser?" Chrysalis questioned. "Yes, my Queen," buzzed a Changeling voice. It was that of a Prince, the rare naturally-male version of a Princess, and it held in its accents a subtle tone of mockery. Chrysalis could smell the scent of Hive Chrysalis on this new one. She stepped over to the door, spat solvent upon the glue, opened the curtain. Faint fungus-light, which seemed to blind her compared to the absolute darkness of before, flooded her eyes. She entered the corridor, turned to watch the door. A Changeling Prince walked out from the ritual chamber, stood before Queen Chrysalis and inclined its head in the barest possible bow which would avoided outright insult. The Prince was dead-black in all frequencies, including the ultraviolet. Even his eyes and teeth were black, to the Queen's perceptions. He was taller than Chrysalis, but he bore no crown of dominance. "What is your name, adviser?" asked Chrysalis. "You may call me -- Polypheromone." came the cultured voice. "That is an unusual name," said the Queen. "It is -- descriptive," replied Polypheromone. "For you shall find that I can pass in any Hive, as a member of that own Hive, and hence am among my other talents an Infiltrator beyond compare. Better, by far, than your worthless spawn Ceymi." And Queen Chrysalis shuddered, for she had never named Ceymi, neither to Polypheromone nor to Ahtu Itself. But when one accepts strange aid from beyond Space and Time, one cannot quibble over its exact nature and capabilities. One must not look a gift ling in the mouth, and still less a gift demon. So Chrysalis, who had long ago betrayed the home of her birth and raising, and already in her heart betrayed her Hive and Kind, and now was willingly betraying her whole planet and even Universe, ascended the twisting tunnel with her new Adviser. *** The morning was well advanced when the knock came on Strawberry's door. Both fillies were being watched by a neighbor, she had the house to herself, and she was practically bouncing with delight as she stepped to the door. She was wearing a light blue summer frock, and a little makeup, and she had done her hair, for she wanted very much to give her husband Falcon a good welcome home. She flung the door wide open, crying "Darling!" But the word died on her lips as she saw that Falcon Punch was not there. Instead there stood two tall Pegasus stallions of the Day Guards, one a Senior Lieutenant and the other a Staff Sergent, both resplendent in full armor, the glamors on their helmets making them look snowy-white and blue-maned, the very picture of Equestrian military might and glory. This picture of patriotic virtue was ruined by only one thing. Both of them looked very depressed. "Oh!" she said in confusion "I'm sorry, good soldiers -- I was expecting my husband." "Yes," said the Lieutenant. He looked away for a moment, then seemed to gather his resolution and looked her directly in the eye. "I'm Flash Eye, Lieutenant in the 2nd Regiment, and this is Sergeant Low Finder. May we come in, Mrs. Punch? Raspberry Punch?" "Certainly," she said stepping inside. "And that's my name." The two seemed nice enough, though still unhappy about something. "Would you like some coffee? Tea? Fruit juice?" she asked htem. The two Guardsponies followed her within, shut the door. "Um, Ma'am?" Lieutenant Flash Eye said. "You'll probably want to sit down first." "Oh, all right," Strawberry said, a certain unpleasant feeling starting to creep over her. Falcon told me once about something like this, something the Guards always do personally, as a courtesy to the ... no ... She sat down more heavily than she had intended, making an undignified thumping sound on the couch. The two Guardsponies did not seem to mind her faux pas. She felt very cold. "Ma'am," Lieutenant Flash Eye said, his lip starting to quiver. He stumbled verbally, unable to continue the sentence he had started. He's young, she realized, noticing it through the glamor. And he's a full lieutenant. He must be skilled, have attracted favorable notice. My Falcon never could do that -- he never played Service politics very well ... I wonder if he's ever had to do this before. She dared not admit to herself the true nature of 'this.' The Sergeant unobtrusively nudged him. It was a respectful touch, but it broke the Lieutenant out of his funk, got him talking again. "Mrs. Punch," the Lieutenant said. "I deeply regret to inform you that, while acting as a civilian contractor for the Royal Guards of Equestria, and thus acting under the aegis of the Service, Reserve Lieutenant Falcon Punch was killed in the line of duty last afternoon ..." There were more words, but she couldn't hear them, as the bottom fell out of her world and the gravity on which she had always so stably depended upon acted very strangely. They had stopped speaking now and were trying to hold her, because she was thrashing about, she wasn't sure why, it must have been the gravity changing direction again and again, and somepony was screaming, just screaming endlessly while the room span around her, and it was all a nightmare, it had to be a nightmare, and then she realized with a strange detachment. Oh, I'm screaming, I need help but the Guards are here, so it should be all right, but they can't help me because I'd want them to save Falcon but Falcon's DEAD, nopony can save him now ... Unconsciousness mercifully claimed her.